Warriors of Wind and Ash - Page 88

“I’ve done all I can for you.” Cathrain rises from her chair, her fingers clutching nervously at her skirts. “Now keep your promise, and let me go.”

“You’re afraid it didn’t work,” I say slowly.

“I just told you, it will work.” She scoffs a little, beginning to sidle toward the door.

“Not this.” I tuck the bottle of Kyreagan’s curative into a pocket of my dress. “I’m talking about the poisoning of the flocks. The demise of the dragons. You designed and delivered the poison a while ago, didn’t you? The poison was fed to the flocks of the Middenwold at the end of the war, immediately after Vohrain’s victory, I would guess. Which means the poison you designed was based on dragon physiology—pure dragon, nothing else in the mix.”

Cathrain whirls and makes a dive for the bell. But I catch her and drag her to the floor, her nails scraping the wall just short of the cord.

“The poison wasn’t designed for creatures that are part human,” I gasp, struggling to pin her down. “You didn’t know they’d be shifters. And now you’re afraid it didn’t work. You’re desperate to warn Rahzien that the dragons might not be quite as dead as he expects them to be.”

“Get off me,” she screeches, clawing at my face. “Get off, bitch!”

She’s a stocky woman with strength of her own, but I am a desperate creature of bones and pain and passion. I force her onto her back, my knees pinning her arms, my knife’s edge pressing into the flesh of her throat.

She swallows, her eyes hollow with deathly terror. “I made you the antidote. You promised to spare me.”

“I did promise that. But I can’t let you warn Rahzien.” My voice grates between clenched teeth. It’s a hard voice, a cold, merciless voice.

It doesn’t sound like me.

It sounds like my mother.

I have needed my mother countless times in my life. The void of her absence was usually filled by others… the same people who are being crushed and cowed by the wicked ruler this woman serves. To protect them, to give them a future, I need to be a queen of blades and betrayal, someone who could break a promise like a twig if her goals changed. I need to be a queen like my mother. Just for a little while.

So I carve open my soul, a deeper chasm than I’ve ever revealed to Rahzien or to Kyreagan, and I let my mother in.

When it’s over, the poisoner’s skull sits among the flames in the fireplace.

I threw up twice during the process, and that, plus the stench of burnt human flesh, makes the study reek of violence and wretchedness.

My skin is filmed with a cold, panicked sweat. Did I do the right thing? Should I have kept her alive longer? But I couldn’t risk it—she and I have been unaccounted for all night, and they’ll discover us before long. If I’d let her live, she would have warned Rahzien that the dragons might have survived the poison.

Of course, he’ll get that report from his fucking messenger bird anyway, if it survives the trip to Ouroskelle. But if the dragons are alive, I’m guessing they’d recognize one of Rahzien’s messenger birds and destroy it. They’ll know something’s wrong, and maybe they’ll come to save us. I can’t let Rahzien prepare for that. Our only chance is for the dragons to take him by surprise.

Either way, Cathrain was too dangerous a weapon in the King’s hands. Maybe she used to have the best intentions, but then she began to do Rahzien’s dirty work and rationalize it to herself. She was on the path to committing far worse atrocities.

And I murdered her. Twice.

I scrub my wrist across my damp forehead and let out a dry sob. I need to leave. It’s over, and I promise, I promise I will never do anything like this again.

Get up, Serylla, get up. Get out of here, away from the body, the skull, and the smell…

Shakily I climb to my feet and undo the bolts on the door. I lean against the polished wood, cool and faintly sticky beneath my cheek. I slip my fingers into the pocket of my dress and touch the small bottle, the antidote for Kyreagan.

Someone knocks on the door and I jump back.

“Cathrain?” booms a voice.

Fuck. It’s Rahzien.

There’s nowhere to run, and if I hide, he’ll find me. I can’t let him see what Cathrain was doing, can’t let him guess what she made for me before I killed her.

I sweep my arm across the table, sending everything to the floor in a jumbling crash. I empty a few of the shelves, too, knocking their contents off, crash after beautiful crash. There’s relief in the wanton destruction, a channel for the self-condemnation gnawing at my heart.

Rahzien charges in as I’m throwing a glass orb to the floor.

“The fuck?” he exclaims. “Spider, what are you doing in here? I’ve been looking for you all night…” His gaze drops to the headless body in the corner of the room. Then snaps to the skull in the fireplace.